


Cleanliness Equals

by makingitwork



Series: Magnetised to You [2]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men First Class - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (Comics)
Genre: Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Established Relationship, Living Together, M/M, Possessive Erik, Protective Erik, caring erik, clean erik, clumsy charles, messy charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: Charles is messy, and Erik is...not.





	Cleanliness Equals

**Author's Note:**

> sorry it took so long! And sorry it's not very long! 
> 
> Enjoy!   
> x

There's no other word for it, really. 

Charles is  _messy._

And Erik will readily admit to being a control-freak. He likes to control everything, he likes order, he likes all his case files organised neatly and in order of relevance, with all the witness statements in a separate folder. He likes his briefcase to be laid neatly open each night and all prepared so in the morning he glances over it and clasps it shut and is out of the door, no fuss. His wardrobe is a neat line of sleek grey suits, black turtlenecks and the occasional magenta jumper (and it's only because Charles had worked so hard to knit it for him and then gushed about how it brought out the stormy grey of his eyes).

Erik likes control. It can make him unbearable around the office, and sometimes Moira has given him dirty looks for how often he checks up on Charles. It isn't that Erik doesn't trust Charles, because he does,  _so much._ More than he trusts himself, and that says so much. Erik has relied on himself nearly his entire life, and now he knows if he's unsure, that Charles will guide him. Charles will be his beacon of light in seas of doubt. 

Charles, on the other hand, and Erik's heart pangs just at thinking about him, is a mess. His genetics notes are mixed with his students essays, and the marked pile shuffles alongside the unmarked pile. His briefcase has bits of paper sticking out when it's closed, and it looks like a small bomb exploded inside it. One of the hinges is coming loose and Erik has tried to rectify it, but the metal is crumbly and weak, and Charles refuses to get a knew one.  _But Erik!_ He'd pouted  _this was the one I had when I first got my phD. It's..._ he'd rubbed a thumb over the brown leather fondly  _it's a little broken, and more than irritating, but it's mine._

Erik's a little broken, more than irritating, and he's Charles'. So he'd relented, and learnt to stand the presence of the muddled briefcase. 

Charles' wardrobe is a disaster zone. Knitted cardigans and sweater vests and tweed half hanging off hangers, expensive shoes muddied with the college ground's grassy planes, white shirts wrinkled and unironed. 

 

Erik's just finished cleaning the kitchen, he scrubs and polishes the silverware until it's gleaming, and his metal senses are singing happily. Their cupboards are a mix of Erik's new purchases and Charles' old, ridiculous antiques. 

'Erik!' Charles beams, racing into the kitchen and hugging Erik tightly. Erik inhales the scent of his ridiculous husband 'you won't believe it! You won't! Oh, it's so wonderful! You know the Summer's brothers? They've been granted a full scholarship thanks to my appeal!'

The metal bender only just resists the urge to roll his eyes. Trust Charles to be this excited over someone else's happiness. 

Charles sets about brewing some tea, pulling out a newly washed cup and teaspoon and Erik looks around and realises that Charles' briefcase has been forgotten on the kitchen floor, and is bleeding out papers onto the tiles. Charles' coat has flaked off some brown autumn leaves from where it hangs haphazardly over the chair, and there are specks of mud across the floor. He tries to temper down a burst of irritation, because Charles is here. His Charles. Charles who brings happiness and cheer, and good will wherever he goes. 

A warm cup of coffee is pressed into his chest and Erik takes it gratefully, watching as Charles sips his own tea. 

'So, how was your day?'

'Slow, we're waiting on contracts to be filed mostly, all the boring paperwork.' He keeps eyeing the mud on the floor and Charles follows his gaze

'Oh! I'm sorry, would you like me to-'

'No,' Erik says quickly, because Charles has just come back from work and cleaning mud off the floor isn't a pressing matter, but-

'You beautiful idiot,' Charles grins, setting down his cup and pressing a kiss to the corner of Erik's mouth 'you go sit, I'll clean this up. Now...where do we keep the uh...broom?'

Erik laughs.

 

Erik wakes up with a slight jerk, the television is humming gently, and the lamp casts a golden glow over the living room. He glances at the time, feels the metal hand ticking calmly. He reaches for Charles' watch, and to his surprise, finds it pulsing against a moving wrist as Charles writes in his study. He pushes himself up, and pads to the study. Charles is resting his head on a pile of books, but he's writing slowly, his handwriting more loopy and he's muttering to himself. 

'So if we assume the border was the mountain pass, the respective environments would have altered the gene pool so greatly that...that...so that...' the pen pauses for a moment, and Charles is snuggling into the parchment and Erik thinks he's the most adorable bundle of husband he's ever seen. 

'I can hear you,' Charles murmurs, cuddling the stack of books, and Erik steps forward, before frowning. 

'Charles,' he says slowly 'why is your bookcase...ordered?'

And it is. All the books are neatly slotted together, papers and research are shuffled neatly into corners and though the desk still looks like a paper storm, the bookcase is almost Erik standards clean. 

'For you,' Charles mumbles

Erik loves him so much  _it hurts._

He scoops Charles up, despite the protests that the gene pool changing ratio of alleles won't write itself and tugs off his trousers and wraps him in a blanket. They curl up together, till their chests rise and fall in unison. 

When Erik wakes up in the morning, Charles has rolled around so much that the blankets are a tangled mess above them and he smiles. 

Yes, Charles is a mess, a complete mess.

But he's  _Erik's_ mess. 

**Author's Note:**

> prompt and comment? xxx


End file.
